


Crossfire

by thesetimesreborn



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury, Post-Series, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesetimesreborn/pseuds/thesetimesreborn
Summary: He stopped himself, luckily. But—maybe—that was only because Ryoga had gotten so close. When had he gotten so close?Post-canon Hellshark comfort drabble that got away from me.





	Crossfire

**Author's Note:**

> Post-canon, major Zexal spoilers ahead. Description of Thomas's burn scars, but nothing too graphic.  
> Figured I would drop this here. May end up being part of a larger work, because I love my endgame Hellshark.

Ryoga tugged at his collar, raising his eyebrows and then throwing out a comment when he didn’t get a response.

“Hot, Arclight?”

Thomas didn’t dignify that at first, giving him a surly glare, but then sighing defensively, “No, not really. Why, are you? That’s your problem.”

Ryoga recoiled slightly at the defensive tone but arched an eyebrow anyway. “I mean, it’s the middle of the summer, what’s with the long sleeves?”

“I just want to wear this, okay?! Is that enough?” 

“Yeah, Jesus, just calm down, Thomas.”

Thomas seemed unimpressed by his apparent disinterest. His lip curled as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Well, fine, then. I guess it doesn’t matter if you see. You, of all people.”

The second remark trailed off as he shrugged off his button-down. The breeze on his skin was foreign but not unwelcome. He never went out without long sleeves.  
Ever.

Ryoga’s face didn’t betray the rainbow of emotion that he must be experiencing. Or no, fuck that. Maybe he was giving him too much credit. It was probably pure disgust. Yeah, that must be it. That’s why he’s not saying anything. That’s why—  
“Your…skin.” 

His skin. Thomas’ skin was twisted and mottled and raised and scarred, oh so scarred. His arms and torso carried angry, red-brown burn scars, over a decade old at this point, but still shocking to the unsuspecting viewer. 

Thomas snorted. “Lucky I can cover these up, right. The facial one was unfortunate, but it gives me character, right?” He laughed bitterly. Pure derisive humor. The usual.

Ryoga was still silent and oddly composed.

Thomas swallowed. “Only so much the doctors can do to little old me, when I don’t have some freaky Barian healing properties—“ 

He stopped himself, luckily. But—maybe—that was only because Ryoga had gotten so close. When had he gotten so close?

Against all odds, Ryoga Kamishiro, the boy who called himself Shark, had mellowed out over the years. More so than Thomas, at least. He reached out delicately to touch his forearm, one of the more mild, discolored first-degree burns there.   
Thomas searched his eyes, downturned, for some context or meaning. Ryoga took nearly minute to meet his gaze, sweeping his hand up Thomas’s arm. More scars. More gnarled skin.  
“It must have hurt.” 

Thomas’s heart stopped. Against all odds.

“Yeah.” Was that..? A knot in his throat. There were tears in his eyes. What the fuck. 

“Yeah, it fucking did.”

That was how Thomas Arclight ended up shirtless and sobbing in the arms of Ryoga Kamishiro: the boy whose life he ruined, until Ryoga turned it all back on him. They were both fighting the same enemy, why did it take them so long to wind up on the same side? But Ryoga was disqualified, and Thomas was as good as dead, and they were just stupid kids fighting for causes they didn’t understand. Until now. Thomas heaved and buried his eyes further into Ryoga’s shoulder so that he’d never have to look him in the eye again after this miserable display. 

“It hurt because I’m a fucking useless coward who doesn’t know how to do anything but hurt people. Good thing I got caught in the crossfire that one time.” 

Ryoga’s hand glided over the nasty second-degrees on his right side. “Nothing good about it. Except that you made it out.”

You? Not “you two” or “you both” or even “you saved Rio”? Just…you.

The words went to Thomas’ tear ducts before his brain. And he cried, and he felt stupid but that was too small a fear compared to this. Ryoga was holding him, motionless, no comforting motions or pats besides the steady beating of his heart against Thomas’.


End file.
